‘Like a Trojan music box,’ Daniel mused, poking at the bottom of a carved wooden owl. ‘Anything’s possible.’
Two hours passed with the only interruptions being the occasional clatter of a dropped knick-knack or a sneeze because of the dust. They worked in tandem, Fern’s brows furrowed in concentration, Daniel’s hair dusted with cobwebs, both too stubborn to give up.
‘No music box,’ Fern said finally, collapsing onto the chair. ‘We’re missing something. We must be.’ She glanced at the piano and immediately lifted the lid. ‘Throw me that torch.’
Shining a light inside, she said, ‘No, nothing, just another spider minding its own business.’
Daniel perched on the edge of the desk. ‘It’s not here.’
‘It’s got to be. Matilda brought it up to Dorothy, and Alistair was asking after it. That’s not a coincidence. Where could it be hidden?’ Fern’s mid was working overtime. ‘I’ve got it!’ She flapped her hand at Daniel. ‘Come on!’ She bounded up the stairs, skipping the fourth step, straight into the bedroom, and stood looking up at the moose’s head. She pointed.
‘Are you trying to tell me that Maurice is hiding a music box?’
‘Who would ever look inside the moose’s head?’
‘No one,’ replied Daniel, taking off his shoes before stepping onto the bed. He unhooked the moose’s head from the wall as Fern screamed and ran to the doorway, pointing at the huge spider that had dropped onto the duvet.
‘One spider, no music box,’ stated Daniel, hooking it back on the wall.
‘I really thought I had it then,’ admitted Fern, sounding a little defeated as they walked back down the stairs.
‘Not that this is helpful to the music box situation, but the antique vinyl expert is coming in tomorrow to take a look at Nathaniel Loring’s record, to give a true valuation.’
‘At least then we’ll know what we’re dealing with. What if we’re thinking too literally?’ Fern said. ‘Maybe the truth isn’t about the box itself, but something inside it, a letter or a key. Maybe even a confession. Oh, I don’t know, I’m feeling muddled myself now!’
‘I think there’s definitely something here, and whoever the anonymous buyer is they know exactly what they’re looking for.’
‘Someone could have already taken the music box, for all we know. Have you ever sold one?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘The thought of someone knowing something we don’t, makes me uncomfortable.’
‘Let’s see what the vinyl guy says tomorrow and who knows? Maybe we’ll find the music box when we least expect it. Maybe it’s hiding in plain sight.’
‘Maybe it is,’ Fern said as she sat behind the desk and pulled out her phone and began to scroll. Tap. Swipe. Notifications. Then she froze.
Daniel caught the change in her face. ‘What is it?’
She didn’t speak, just turned the phone towards him.
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY EXCLUSIVE: Rock Star Jax Devlin OFF THE MARKET. Confirmed Relationship with Socialite and Music Journalist Ella Byrne
Beneath the headline was a photo of Jax, impossibly smug, and Ella, beaming like she’d won the lottery.
Fern couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Ella had admitted to sleeping with him, but this was public, something he’d never wanted when he was dating her, when it was all about secrecy and not letting the paparazzi get wind of any type of relationship. ‘Ella,’ she said quietly. ‘My best friend and my ex.’
Daniel raised his eyebrow. ‘That’s a little bit awkward.’
Fern swallowed. ‘Isn’t it just.’
In that second Fern had forgotten all about the mystery of the music box. Ella hadn’t bothered to call to let her know the story was coming out or even tried to have a conversation with her since the text. She wasn’t sure what to do but she knew she had been betrayed. Ella was meant to be her best friend, but it seemed she had no consideration for Fern’s feelings whatsoever, and that hurt.
ChapterThirty-Seven
Fern and Daniel were propped up against mismatched pillows, the duvet tucked around them like a badly folded burrito. ‘Do you think Alistair and Nathaniel are dodgy?’ asked Fern.
Daniel turned his head slowly to look at her. ‘Dodgy?’ he repeated, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. ‘As in, running some kind of underground vinyl smuggling ring?’
